Jake's Way
by Eli Hicks
Summary: A friends death...Lessons in life, Jake had learned much, but still has miles to go before he can rest...reviews...please?
1. The rain brought him in

The clouds above looked grey and daring. Daring anyone left out in the radiation infested water to survive the down pour they were about to unleash. "Looks like rain huh Jim?" One of the older men said. The other replied with a simple nod of the head. They were sitting on they're front porch. House made of scrap sat behind them, it had supported them for damn near 30 years, and would support them for many more. A rifle and a box of shells sat between them. They rarely used it, but safety first was the law of the wasteland.

The rain began as a simple pitter patter on the metal roof. They knew better than to expect it to last longer than a few minutes, it rarely did. Bill raised a small tin can to his mouth and spit in it, getting the excess of the chewing tobacco from his withered gums. "That shit's gonna kill you one day you know?" the other man said, Bill laughed, "Yeah, just like raiders and muties will. Damn Jim your like a broken record." They shared a laugh, it was an inside joke between the two. One naming something, the other saying 'It'll kill you, you know?'. It had kept them entertained for years. Or 'Damn near 30 years' as they put it. Bill spit in the can once more before sitting it back down.

The rain was lasting longer than usual, Bill had counted off the minutes, a habit he had picked up as a youngster. Just when he thought it would begin to eat away at the houses' roof it began to let up. As the last little plink plink plinks of the perspiration died away a figure appeared on the horizon. Bill and Jim lived in a crater so the horizon wasn't much farther than 100 yards. From here the boy looked 19 or so. He wore a jumpsuit. "Jim, you seeing this too?" Bill asked, Jim nodded, standing and grabbing the rifle. He pulled it to eye level, closing one eye, drawing a bead on the boy, just as his finger squeezed the trigger the boy fell, the bullet passed through where his body would have been had he not fallen. "Shit! Jim what the hell you do that for!" Bill yelled, grabbing the rifle from Jim's hands. "I didn't shoot him ya idiot, I missed!" "Don't look that way to me!" Bill spit his tobacco out, and slung the rifle onto his back, running the short distance to the boys now still body.

As he approached it was apparent that Jim had missed. And Jim was an excellent sharpshooter. "Your one lucky sonnovabitch, you know?" Bill said, hauling the boy to his feet, as he did he noticed the numbers '101' printed in yellow letters across the back of the jumpsuit. By the time Bill had the youngster on his feet Jim had arrived, the two men drug the boy back to they're house. Kicking open the door and laying him on the floor, they quickly reverted back to they're wasteland wandering days. Without a spoken word, Jim grabbed a fluid bag of Rad-Away, connected the tubing and needle to it. With a quick and precise movement he had the radiation counteracting medicine flowing into the boys body. All that was left to do was to wait.

The two men were at a home made table, playing a game of bullshit when the boy finally came to. He panicked, and tried to stand, his weak bodies response was only to roll out of the bed onto the floor. He was whispering to himself, and licking his lips. Both men knew what that was a sign for. Bill handed him one of they're few bottles of non-radiated water. He tried to chug it, but Bill snatched it away, saying "Small sips.". Seeing the men were no threat the boy allowed himself to follow they're advice. He took one small gulp of water, then another, and one last before sitting the bottle down. He had hardly made a dent. "What happened?" he asked, his voice raspy from the radiation. Jim had came from the table and was kneeling beside him. "You got caught out in the rain, boy. Don't you know any better?" The boy's head shook slowly. "What? What the hell you mean? Where you from?" "Vault 101." he answered. Bill scratched his head. "Their's a Vault City out west in California, you mean that place? Bunch of stuck up pricks out that way." The boy shook his head again. "No. California? No, here in D.C. Near Megaton… you know about vaults right?" Both men shook they're heads. The boy sighed. "Ok never mind. Help me back on the bed please, I feel weak." The two old men helped him onto the bed, easing his body slowly, he probably felt as old as they were. The rain was nothing to play with.

As he lay there, listening to the two men playing they're card game, his mind was racing, he could hear Three dog on the radio, talking about that little muther fucker that had ran out after his dad. In a way he hated him, but in a way he also owed him. Had he not ran out that night, Jake wouldn't have had a chance to escape himself. But right now it didn't matter, the rust in his veins was washing away, and his strength was returning. Tomorrow he would head east, into the ruins, to find this 'Three Dog'. He would know how to find that snot nosed brat. And if it was the last thing he did, he would kill that punk. To many people died in the perfect little world of Vault 101. Too many for it to go unjustified. This would end with one of them dying. And right now, as he lay in a shack, with two old men he didn't know, his clothes being eaten away from the residue of the acid-radio-rain, he didn't really care which one.


	2. Welcome to the real world!

"Damn, is he gonna sleep forever?" Bill said, Jim simply nodded. "If he don't wake up we'll know the rads got him, and we'll just throw him out into the yard, som-tin-another will come along and drag him off, a guai or a mole rat." Bill laid down a pair of cards, Jim looked him over slowly. After a careful consideration he yelled out, "Bullshit!" he reached forward and flipped over the cards, it was a pair of two's. "Fuck." Jim said, his curse was just enough to wake up Jake. The familiar sound of a groggy man waking filled the shack. "Uh… my head… gah, I need a drink." Before the sentence was out of his lips both of the men were at the bedside, one with a hot cola and the other fiddling with Jake's pip-boy. Jake realized that either they had experience with the pip-boy or they were simply curious. "What you doing?" he asked, jerking his arm away. "I can tell this here gadget got some type of Geiger on it. I'm only helping, chill your shit kid." Jake apologized and lay back, letting the man push random buttons on the pip-boy. It beeped and booped, Jake wasn't sure what they were doing but he did know that his body felt 100% better. He rose to his feet, and as he did a small satchel was handed to him.

"What's this?" Jake asked. Bill laughed, "Call it a gift. Just some stuff left over from our wandering days." Jim added "Yeah, treat the magnum well, she's my baby, I'm giving her to you, we don't really need any of this stuff anymore." Jakes curiosity took him and he sat the satchel on the ground, unfolding the fabric. A strange pistol, presumably a 10mm smg, and another pistol, one he had never seen before. He held it up, studying it closely. It had a break away barrel, probably for speed reloading. "What is this called?" Jake asked. Bill laughed, then seeing Jake's sincere confusion answered. "It's a .44 son, most folks carry around they're pussy little 10mm, smg's and otherwise. But this here is the boss, one shot should at least plant someone on they're ass. Two? Well after that they're just critter chow." Jake laughed, the dark humor of the wasteland was obviously something he would become acquainted with. A small sack was wrapped in the satchel as well, "What about this?" he asked, holding it up, a metallic clinking sound rang through his ears. "Caps boy, Jeezums Crow, don't you know ANYTHING?" Jake shook his head again, "No, I'm new to the wasteland." Jim stood looking shocked. "Are you the vault 101 kid that Three Dog been talking about on GNR?" Jake laughed, "No, if anything I'm his opposite. He caused quite a ruckus when he left, killed a few people, other people died in the commotion, including my father and sister, my mother shot herself from the grief/ So, no, I'm not THAT kid, but I am from a vault and I am looking for him, have you seen him?" The two men shook they're heads. "Oh, well. I'm pretty sure the guy you called 'Three Dog' knows. That was where I was headed when it started raining. Oh and I never properly thanked you for saving me, so…thanks." Bill laughed, "No problem kid, hadn't been for your luck Jim here woulda shot ya." "What?" Jim elbowed Bill's ribs. "Nothing. Never mind. Just keep looking." Jake searched the satchel further, finding several stimpacs, he knew what these were, and also finding a small combat knife. After a small discussion about maintenance and care for the weapons, Jake decided it would be best for him to head on out. He stood, securing the satchel to his back, holstering the 10mm smg to his hip. He was just about to exit the small shack when Bill stopped him. "Wait, one more thing…er two really." Jake raised an eyebrow.

Bill walked to a standing cabinet, reaching in and pulling out a odd looking suit. "And this is?" Jake asked. "Combat armor, it's gonna save your ass more times than you can count, has saved mine." Jake thanked him and quickly donned the armor, slipping his legs into the re-sizeable trousers, and slipping the vest over his head. "And the coup de grace." From the same cabinet Bill pulled a rifle, Jake wasn't too enthralled, but the man was making a big deal of it. "What's so great about this here item?" Bill laughed, "You obviously are from another planet or something." Seeing Jake's continued confusion he went into an explanation. "Well, back when the commies forced they're way into Alaska. Around 200 years ago, they brought with them specially made assault rifles. Carbon powered, fully automatic, extremely durable, and runs off normal .556 ammo. Like any other assault rifle you'll find here in the wasteland. They stay in great condition, and kick like a star soccer player. Just don't let anyone try to cheat you out of it, That rifles worth at least 500 caps, if not more. Don't be a sucker. That's what the wasteland runs off of, idiots and people taking advantage of these idiots. You pick your place. Alright?" Jake nodded, the two men were slowly saying goodbye, and he knew it. "Well, the suns high in the sky, I reckon it's time for me to head on out, I'll make sure to stay out of the rain this time." The three shared a laugh at this.

Jake took his time leaving, marking the location on his pip-boy. As he strode out into the wastes, the two men sat back down in they're home made rocking chairs on they're home made porch. Bill pinched a bit of tobacco and put in his gums. He rose a spit can to his mouth just as the boy's figure disappeared over the horizon. Jim looked at him and said, "Shits gonna…" Bill interrupted him, "Yeah, kill me one day, I know. Jeez Jim your like a broken record."

Jake looked back only once, to confirm that his new gear was real, as everything in this new world seemed oddly fake. But sure enough he felt the weight of the weapons and the restricted movement of the combat armor. He tuned his pip-boy to GNR, and as he did heard a report from Three Dog of how the 'lone wanderer from Vault 101' had saved some settlement called 'Big Town' from mutants. "Fucking goodie two shoes, just wait till I find you. We'll see how well you handle this one." He said, patting the .44 magnum holstered to his right side…

Jake walked for several more hours until he saw another group of people on the horizon. Maybe they could help him find his way to the D.C ruins, a quicker route. But as he approached, he noticed they're spiky hair and grungy exterior. He knew they were a bad crowd, but as he turned to retreat he heard one say in a gruff voice, "Hands up, on your knees. LOOKIE BOYS! A FRESH BITCH!" Jake sunk to his knees, knowing this couldn't be the end of his story, not so early. He had to do something and do it now.


	3. The trouble with Slavers

Jake felt the pressure of the gun pushed to his head. He was forced onto his stomach, as he hit the ground a tooth went through his gum and the copper-like taste of blood filled his mouth. "Where you coming from boy? Huh?!" the crazed man yelled. When Jake didn't reply he felt a thud on the back of his head, the pain sat in slowly, creeping through his mind like a mist. "I asked you a question!" "Bone, I don't think he know what ya saying, maybe he's one dem ole creole bastards, speaking the France." "Pack I know what he is! Look at them guns, he ain't no creole you dumb fuck, look at that armor, he's from cali-for-ni-a." Jake finally spoke. "Yeah, from uh, Vault City." The one known as Bone hauled him to his feet, upholstering both his hand-held weapons and taking the rifle from his back. Pick then lifted the armor over his head, leaving only his grimy tee-shirt and his armored legs. "Now walk, till I say stop."

Jake could have swore they walked the distance of the entire wasteland, his heart beating the whole time. It wasn't until they came upon a small camp, by a large river, did he realize what was happening. He saw people sitting in cages, some looked alive, they were the fresh catches. Some looked like they had given up and accepted they're fate, they were the ones who had been caught awhile back. These people were slavers… and they meant him no good. "You know…" Jake began, only to have his head slapped by Bone. Pick spoke up, "Don't you be hurtin da merchandise Bone, I'll tell Ma!" Bone turned to Pick and punched him in the gut. 'You go telling Ma, and it'll be the last thing you ever go telling anyone! Got it you stupid prick!?" Pick whimpered, almost child like, and said he 'got it'. Jake realized the man was either mentally retarded or extremely stupid. Probably a touch of both. "Alright now" Bone said, pushing the gun into the small of Jake's back. "Time to find the birdie a cage!"

It had been two days. Every day the bars of the metal cage got too hot to touch, and at night they were the only bit of heat in the icy cold. But even after a few hours they lost they're retained heat and faded away. It was only then that Jake would sleep. Face pressed against the bars, he would be awoken by some random slaver. Throwing a plate of a fishy tasting sponge cake at him. He asked once what the food was called but the response was only a laugh.

It had been 6 days. Jake was sure he would die soon, from either depression or thirst, he was given a canteen every day, filled up half way with water. Once he asked for a refill, the slaver took it from him and pissed into it, then handed the canteen back. "There, drink up." When Jake went to turn the bottle up-side to empty the content he found a gun in his face. "I said drink it." With a flame of anger replacing the depression Jake drank the liquid. He gagged once, but when he heard the hammer of the gun click back he choked down the rest. "Ha!! Man! That was nasty. Your nasty." With that the slaver walked away, leaving Jake baking in his embarrassment. That and the heat.

It had been almost 14 days. Jake was praying for death by the time his meal was brought to him. His plan was to antagonize the slaver who brought it until they painted the hard ground and metal cage with his brains. But someone threw him a rope. It was Pick delivering his meal. When the was sat down, Jake saw a hurt look in Pick's eyes. With a bit of sincerity, and a bit of trickery, he formulated a plan. "Pick? What's the matter buddy?" Pick looked back, and took another step. "Come on, tell me, I'm your friend, you can trust me." Pick turned mid-stride and came to kneel at Jakes cage. "You're my friend?" Pick asked. Jake nodded. "I ain't ever had me no friend before… except for Bridge…" Jake just had to ask, "Who's Bridge?" Pick said, with a tear swelling in one of his off centered eyes. "Bridge was my friend, he the only person ever treated ole Pick like a fellow hu…hu…human. But he got killed by somebody named 'Vault Boy'…or at least that what dey callin dat boy, he sometin special, so dey say." Jake could have shit himself, that little prick would be his saving grace. "Well, I'll be your friend, but you got to do me a favor Pick." Pick's eyes shone with excitement. "What?! Pick will do anything for a friend!" Jake chuckled. "You got to let me out, that way we can play." Pick happily agreed. "I'll go get the keys!" Jake leaned back and marveled at his luck. "First thing I'm doing is hopping into that river and drinking it dry. Well…after I kill these mother fuckers first."


	4. Catch and Realease

"Fuck." It was a single word to explain Jake's situation. Pick had been gone twenty minutes and from the sounds around him, wasn't on his way back. If something had happened to him…then it was all over… Jake leaned back, rattling the cage a little bit as he did. One of the slaves next to him spoke up. "I heard your conversation, when you get out, your letting the rest of us out…right?" Jake laughed. "Hell no, that'd cause quite a ruckus and how am I supposed to slip out with all that going on?" The other slave laughed. "Well, if that be the case, I could just start hollering right now, you and your retarded friend wouldn't stand a chance against all of them…not at once. And even if you SOMEHOW keep me quiet, then what then buddy man? You gonna fight thirty plus slavers by yourself?" The man's words rang true, that was a lot of people to fight, especially for Jake, who's only combat experience was back in the Vault, with those stupid Tunnel Snake pricks. He could still remember them running down the hallways and hollering "Tunnel snakes rule!" What a bunch of fucking morons. "Alright, yeah, I'll let you out." The slave threw him an odd look, Jake corrected himself, "Then you help me let the rest out?" The slave nodded, then said, "Oh, and by the way. Name's Jake." "What!? Mine's Jake too, that's incredible…really?" The slave laughed, "Hell no, I just heard you tell that retard that, my name is Lou." Jake held out his hand, the slave…Lou, took it and shook it. "Nice to meet you, oh think fast your friends back."

Jake turned to see the moonlit, smiling face of Pick. He jingled the keyring he was now holding, Jake figured for emphasis, or some other reason, for whatever he did it, it was the most beautiful thing Jake had ever heard. "Yes! Pick! You're my BEST friend!" Pick stopped momentarily, "Be..be..best friend?" There was a tear in his eye as he said it. Jake was taken aback by this man's obvious lack of emotional contact. "Yeah, best friend, now let's get outta here ole buddy ole pal." Pick unlocked the cage, as he did Jake stood, for the first time in nearly two weeks, to his full height, around 6'2. He rolled his head on his shoulders, every bone from the bottom of his spine to the base of his skull cracked in happiness to stretch. Jake took the keys from Pick and unlocked Lou's cage. Lou did similar to Jake, popping his back and neck, but as he stood, he barely reached 5'9. His deep voice made him seem a lot larger. "Ok, here's the plan, Pick, help our new friend get the others out. I'm off to fetch my things. If you hear shouting or gun shots…run."

Pick agreed and Jake saw him help a young woman out of her cage before he turned a corner, a tent blocking his view.

Jake searched the first tent, two slavers slept in it. Two men sharing a bed. Jake had to stifle his laughter, 'some bad asses, to be faggots', he thought. The second tent contained several boxes, in them were various items, cups, plates, forks, baseballs, bats…wait…bat! He grabbed the bat and the ball, he HAD been the star pitcher on the Vault 101 baseball team. And any idiot could swing a bat. Jake crept along, searching tent by tent, there had to be 30 of them. When he had almost given up hope he came along the jackpot, sitting on homemade shelves were several weapons, he immediately recognized his. Grabbing them, wrapping the dual holster to his waist, and slinging his 'rare' Chinese rifle onto his back. He tucked two 10mm pistols into his waist band, one for Pick, one for Lou. He noticed several clips of ammo lying very organized next to the weapons. Jake grabbed them as well. Just as he exited the tent, standing strong and tall, he had to duck back into it. A slaver patrol was walking by, holding a automatic rifle similar to his Chinese. They weren't the same make, this one was probably American. He pulled the .44 from it's holster and steadied it on the slaver's head, he had almost pulled the trigger when he realized that would wake up every other person in the camp, and he was sure he didn't have enough ammo for all of them. Instead he gripped the baseball, the three finger technique his father had taught him. (thought of father led to thought of his mission to kill the escapee, but for now his job was to get out of this shit hole alive) And threw the ball, accurately and swiftly. It cracked against the slaver's skull, instantly knocking him down. Jake ran to him, when he realized the man wasn't dead he took the rifle from the ground and smashed the man's head until grey matter was visible. "Teach ya'll to fuck with me."

As he approached his original holding area, he noticed a small crowd standing around, some were sitting on the ground others were nearly bouncing up and down with joy. "This all of them?" Jake asked. Pick nodded, smiling happily. "Where's Lou?" As he said it, he felt a hand clap his shoulder, "Good work, let me get that other rifle." Jake handed the rifle to Lou, who slung it over his back, Jake then handed him the pistol, and an extra clip of ammo. "Thanks, pretty smart kid, that you are." Lou said, a strange compliment but a compliment none-the-less. He tried to hand Pick his pistol, but Pick refused to take it. "Guns are too scary, at least the up close ones." Jake was baffled by what this could possibly mean, 'the up close ones'. Without another thought he threw the pistol away. Lou smacked the back of his head and retrieved it. "Ammo boy, and damn if I didn't just call you smart." Lou pressed the button to release the clip, it fell into his waiting hand. He handed it to Jake. "One for the both of us." "Yeah, thanks." Jake wasn't sure why, but he felt a bit of attachment to this man, not like a father-son thing, more of a man to man thing. (and not like the homo slavers back in the tent either). "Now what we be doin?" Pick asked. Jake shrugged, "I'm getting the fuck out of here, I don't know about the rest of you." Several of the ex-slaves spoke up. 'headed back home', 'headed for Rivet City', 'Headed for Megaton'. Jake looked to Lou, "And you?" Lou laughed, "I'm traveling to a great place called Oasis. They caught me headed there, so I might as well pick up where I left off." Jake sighed, "Oh." Lou laughed, "What, you expected me to travel with you? Just cause you saved me? Sorry kid, things don't work like that." Pick butted in at that point. "I go with Jake, he my BEEEST friend." he said, stressing how much of best friends they were.

By then most of the slaves had walked away, going in different directions. Jake was reluctant to depart from Lou's company. "Look kid, I'm sure we'll meet again, I call the D.C my home, I don't travel the American wasteland. If your in the area hit me up." Jake laughed, "Alright, where exactly is Oasis?" Lou cocked his head and looked to the stars, he seemed to be studying them. Jake was perplexed. Lou suddenly turned and pointed. "North is that way, so I'll be headed north by north west, it's up in the hills. Real easy to miss, or so they say." Jake began to see the picture. "Have you ever even been to Oasis?" Lou hung his head, kicking a small rock. "No…been searching for two years now, never found it. And everyone that does go looking for it, they never come back, but we receive transmissions, saying they found it, that the tales are true, that it really is an oasis, hence the name, I reckon." Jake nodded, "Well good luck, and next time we meet up, maybe you can buy me a beer." Lou agreed and turned to leave. "Hey, when you came in, you were wearing a plate? Right?" Seeing Jake's confusion, Lou added. "The top piece to your armor…you know?" Jake realized he was right, in the excitement he had totally forgot about the top piece, or 'plate' as Lou called it. Jake looked to the camp, weighing the danger to the benefit of the plate…he would go for the plate. He turned to ask Lou for help, only to find him walking away, opposite direction from the camp, looking for Oasis. Jake turned to Pick. "Want to help your buddy one last time?" Pick nodded eagerly. Like a dog wanting a bone. "Hold this." Jake said, handing Pick the bat. "And follow me…stay quiet though!" Jake looked to his left to see the horizon brightening with sunlight, and as he did saw a group of people come over the horizon. They were several hundred yards away, if they were more slavers, then Jake had precious time to get his armor and get out, if they were someone else…then… "Fuck." it was a word to describe Jake's situation.


	5. 3 Kills and 1 Mistake

Every crunch of ground underneath his boots, every heart beat, every breath, were bombshells in Jake's ears. It was strange, sneaking through this Slaver camp, the adrenaline was almost as good as sex. One hand was out in front, and the other gripping the handle of his .44. They both were shaking. Pick had stayed back, not by choice, he had asked to come with Jake, but Jake knew the man, as friendly as he was, couldn't be capable of stealth…or very much at all for that matter. He did owe the man his life but face it… Pick wasn't all there. And Jake knew, if he knew anything, he knew that Pick would cause a ruckus, so even though he had given him a human equivalent of puppy dog eyes, Jake had instructed him to stay put, and if anyone comes by, then bop them over the head with the bat. Pick had sadly agreed and hugged Jake. It still felt weird.

As he crept along Jake heard the rustling sounds of people waking up all around him, the sun was creeping over the horizon and it was rise-and-shine time for the wasteland. To Jake it was hurry-the-fuck-up time. He peered around the corner of a tent to check the way, it was clear. He took to a fast creep down the makeshift aisle. He reached his destination. Peering inside the tent he saw his armor plate, sitting where he had forgotten it. He grabbed it and slipped it over his head, fastening the locks so it would stay put, he stood, turning to leave. A gun was stuck to his face, the mid-temperature metal was pressed against his nose. "Hi." Jake said, being as sarcastic as possible. "Tell me one thing." the slaver said, "How…the…FUCK did you get out of that cage?" Jake pointed, "With that." The slaver turned his head, and as he did Jake took the pistol from the slaver in one quick move, and smashed the butt of it into his head with another. "YOU MOTHE…" Jake brought the pistol down again. The man fell to the ground. Jake stomped his boot into the back of the man's neck. Hearing a satisfying CRACK! He turned and strode away.

He had now killed two men, the level of excitement and anxiety in his veins was enough to cause a heart attack, but Jake used it to his advantage, every move, every stride in his now super human run, was put to one ultimate purpose, GET THE FUCK OUT OF DODGE! The slavers partial yell had rose an alarm, someone was shouting out. "Escaper's!!!" Jake was pretty sure 'escaper' wasn't a word, but now wasn't the time for grammar lessons. He ran a corner, running into a slaver as he did, the two men fell to the ground. Jake was the first to his feet, he grabbed the mans head and twisted it sharply, the neck broke, and death was instant. But more importantly, quiet. He turned and continued running. By now his legs were burning, his lungs were liquid, the damn armor was so heavy! How had he managed it before? Well he hadn't been running for his life before… so that might have been it… but all be damned if he was going to stop running. He flew by Pick, only to stop shortly and run back, grabbing Pick by his dirty shirt sleeve. "Come on! Dumbass!" Pick planted his feet firmly, shaking his head. "What?! What the hell Pick?!" Pick sighed, "You be my friend, but you callin ole Pick bad names, what kinda friend dat makin you?" Jake yelled into the slow man's face. "I don't care! If you want to live, then come on!" Pulling on Pick's shirt, grabbing him by the collar, but no matter how hard he tried, Pick wasn't budging. "Pick, what do you want? An apology?" Pick looked confused, "Apology?" Jake looked over Pick's shoulder, two men were running they're way. Two very angry looking slavers. "A sorry, do you want a sorry?" Pick nodded. "Ok, I'm sorry, your not a dumbass, now…please?" Pick clapped his hands and shuffled his feet. "Yes!" "Ok, lets race." Jake and Pick ran full speed away from the camp, Jake heard the clap of gunfire behind him, he even felt the buzz of the bullets flying by them. "These crazy mother fucker's really want you dead!" he yelled to Pick. Pick didn't say anything back, just continued running.

It was nearly an hour later, Jake and Pick had run to some nearby ruins. From the layout of the building, it was some kind of factory, as they had entered, several rad-roaches had went scurrying into the darkness. Jake hit the light button on his pip-boy, illuminating the room in a greenish glow. He had peered out the door moments earlier to discover a small group of men, from the camp, searching all the abandoned cars and houses between here and there. "Pick, what is this place?" Jake asked, heaving great breathes, trying to get some oxygen back into his system. Pick seemed un-phased by the near mile run they had just taken. "Me? I don't know…some kind of…building?" Jake couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah, it is some kind of building. Let's find out what kind." Jake put his arm around Pick's shoulder and the two walked into the dark building, Pick was exploring, but Jake…Jake was hiding.


	6. The way of the Wasteland

"Little bitch! Traitor mother fucker! Come out and fight!" the yells echoed throughout the building. Jake had his hand clamped firmly over Pick's mouth. In an attempt to keep the man quiet, but hard as he tried, Pick continued to put out a child like whine. "Pick." Jake whispered, "Please? Shhh…" Pick took a deep breath, and for several seconds was silent, then the whine came back. 'God-damnit' Jake thought. "Pick?!" A new voice, a familiar one. It was Bone, back to finish what he started. "Where are you, you dumb fuck? Come out now and we won't be mad at all! Just give your slave buddy up and we'll let you come back, we're your REAL friends!" Jake was sure that Pick wasn't believing them, but as a bit of back up to his current hiding spot, he grabbed Pick's hand and squeezed it tightly, sending the message. Pick squeezed back. Jake nodded, then cupped his hand to Pick's ear and whispered. "Stay here… I'm going to take care of this." Pick nodded and whimpered, terrified, impossibly, greatly, utterly terrified, Jake pulled the smg from the holster and slowly rose to a crouched position.

All around him were the shuffling sounds of people searching, searching for him. The 'escaper' as one had so eloquently put it. As he crept along, peeking and surveying to find all the slaver's positions, he had a small epiphany. Holstering the smg and pulling out the combat knife given to him by his first made friends, he held it forward, slipping silently behind one of the slavers, he stood, a shadow in another man's shadow. Positioning the knife correctly, he slipped it through the slavers back, instant penetration of the heart. Not a single word was uttered. Jake caught the body before it fell, He gently lowered it. Slipping the small .32 pistol into the satchel on his back. Jake felt the warmth of the slaver's blood on his hands. He wanted to feel more.

Several seconds later another slaver fell, this one's throat slit, the pitter patter of blood hitting the floor was audible, but only barely so. If Jake's earlier presumptions were correct that left 3. Just as he was about to grab the next one he heard a door open and shut. The slaver turned and just as his mouth opened to scream, Jake rammed the blade vertically into his head. From the bottom of his jaw, through the tongue, entering the front of the brain and killing the man. A fitting end, Jake saw the glint of the steel through the slaver's open mouth. In it a reflection, himself, with crazed eyes and a small splotch of blood on his cheek, it was crusted over, presumably from one of his earlier kills. He peeked around the next corner to see the last two standing, back to back. He pulled the smg and aimed, squeezing the trigger, it clicked. They both opened fire in the direction of the click. Jake ducked back around the corner, seeing the far wall being pelted with bullets. They were causing small sparks, like some strange fireworks. He stuck his hand around the corner, not bothering to aim. He had remembered to take the safety off this time. The gun reported, RATATATATA! Firing off 15 or so bullets, half the clip. Jake peeked to see one lying dead, the other bleeding from several torso wounds, as Jake observed the man went through an extremely fast episode of denial, acceptance, relief, then end. Curtain close, show's over. Jake stood, satisfied with his work. He walked into the bright patch, where the roof had fallen through and allowed sunlight to shine. He called for Pick to emerge, but when he called several times and there was no response his mind went into a frenzy. Where was he? Was he hurt, dead, worse? Remembering the shutting door he ran outside. Standing before him, two slavers. Bone had Pick, a gun to his temple. As Jake's mouth formed the first syllable of the one syllable word he was going to scream, 'no', Bone pulled the trigger, a red splash splattered across the desert floor. Bone then turned his gun to Jake. He pulled the trigger, Jake felt a heavy pressure on his chest, knocking the wind from him, he sunk to his knees. Bone approached, presuming the bullet had penetrated and that his newest kill was finished. Jake stayed crouched, holding the smg in one hand, the other clinched to his chest where the bullet had hit the plate of the combat armor. When Bone was in arms reach, Jake took a deep breath, he felt his bruised lungs fill with air, Bone put the gun to Jake's head. "Not dead eh? Let's see what we can do about that, you love the retard so much go see him." Bone pulled the trigger. 'CLICK'. He pulled it again, 'CLICK'. He looked to see a bullet jam. The empty shell of the last bullet hadn't fully ejected, leaving the sleeve un-able to close and load the next bullet. "Shit." He felt a sharp pain in his genitals. He looked to see Jake's smg pressed to his groin. "You wouldn't." Jake only laughed. "You hated the retard so much? Go tell him." Jake squeezed the trigger, spraying 17 bullets into the mans body, some exiting straight up, leaving strange exit wounds. Bone died instantly, but his nerves had the instinct to grab his crotch as he fell to the ground. His head cracking against the hard concrete the building was made of.

Jake stood, pulling a small bottle of dirty water out of his satchel, using it to wash his face. He wasn't worried with his hands, but he wanted a clean face. No need to look like a nut. He had seen enough of those for the next year. A slow but steady pace brought him to Pick's dead body. He looked the body over before kneeling beside it. He noticed that Pick was wearing a small necklace. Some kind of dog tag, there was a gear in the middle of it. Jake lifted it from the corpse and gently lowered it unto his own neck. Like a reminder, a dark reminder. Death. It was the way of the wasteland. Friends were few and far between. Food was scarce, clean water even more so. The pure bleakness of it all was enough to want him to put the .44 to his head and pull the trigger, and die next to his slow friend. But he had work to do first. He would have dug a grave for Pick, but he had no shovel. After realizing that, Jake simply sighed, reloaded his smg, and begun trudging away, head hanging down. The way of the wasteland had become Jake's way. But now there was no time to think, no need to think. He had many miles to go before he rest. And even then, he had many more miles to go before he finished. Finished a task he wasn't even sure deserved to be done anymore. But a task he would finish nonetheless. Because if there is still one fool to fight a cause, then it's a cause worth fighting. But now there was no time to think, no need to think. Many mile before rest. Many miles.


	7. Green Bud's Inc

Weeks had passed. Pick's death was a distant memory to Jake now. He had seen many things in his short travel. He had seen a bruise. Oh, he had seen a bruise. It had began as a small purple spot on the left side of his chest, but had spread slowly, creeping across most of his chest and even reaching his stomach.

The combat armor had saved his life, just like Bill had said, but damn if it didn't hurt. Jake decided to seek a doctor, he was passing through a small settlement, the sign out front read 'Weapons away' with a crude drawing of a gun with a line drawn through it. Jake had no worries, his weapons were stowed most of the time. He trudged into the town, seeing signs up such as 'Cue Ball's Pool Hall' and 'Soul Train Hotel Chain'. They looked rusted and worn, he figured they were pre-war. He continued walking, he saw people casting glances at him occasionally, people in this town were used to travelers obviously. Finally coming upon a shack, smaller than the rest, he saw a first aid symbol with the words 'Chop Block' painted underneath. "Neat…" he said, hearing the door screech on it's hinges as it opened. He walked in to see a man standing in doctor's fatigues, the fading imprint of the same red first aid symbol sowed onto the back of the outfit. The doctor looked at him once and said "Out.' Jake stood his place. "Well, you must be deaf, or dumb, I said out." Jake still stood. "Why? I'm looking for medical attention, and aren't you a doctor? Jackass…" The doctor laughed heartily, either at Jake's snide comment or some other unseen thing of amusement. "Look, kid. This is more of an emergency room, I don't work for free, you come in here looking like a merc fresh from a 3 day spa, what do you need? A fix or something?" Jake sat in a nearby chair. "A fix? No, I'm not a junkie, I just want you to look at this bruise. Maybe help me, you know, like a fucking DOCTOR?" The doc stood, his hand resting on his chin, seemingly in thought. 'Ok, but you are a merc right?" Jake wasn't sure what to say, so he agreed. "Yeah, merc for hire, you got caps, I'll bust some, why?"

The doctor jumped into high gear, rushing to a small tucked away room, coming back carrying a small sack. He handed it to Jake, "Don't open that." Jake did as told. "Take it down to Cue Ball, then come back, I'll take a look at that bruise, if it's too serious for the big bad merc." Jake stood, as he walked out his mind was pondering what could possibly be in the sack. Jake looked over his shoulder, to see the doctor standing at the door, arms crossed. He was serious about not opening the sack. Jake walked into the pool hall, the sound of balls crashing against one another. 'CLACK CLACK CLACK'. The sound was strangely hypnotizing to Jake, he looked to see an attractive young woman bent over the table, taking her shot. He bent quickly to look up her rather short skirt. Just as he did a voice called out, "What you need?!" He looked to see a man, easily clearing 6'5, standing right in front of him, had he not stopped to peer up the girl's skirt Jake would have ran into him. "Uh, I'm, uh…" Jake's eyes shot around, his mind searching for his purpose of being in the pool hall. "Oh, yeah, looking for Cue Ball, got a package for him…" The man snatched the sack out of his hands. Turning it upright. Large green buds from some sort of plant fell into the man's excessively large hands. "Ha, alright, thanks, from the Doc I presume?" Jake nodded. "Ok." When Jake didn't turn to leave the man, presumably Cue Ball, asked "What, you want some pay or something?" Jake nodded, if he was going to offer… The man plucked one of the buds from the sack and dropped it into Jake's hand. "There, high times friend." Jake was confused, but obviously this was some kind of important herb, he would ask later. He simply muttered thanks and exited the pool hall, glimpsing back at the girl one more time. Seeing her looking back at him, he quickly glanced away, face burning with embarrassment. She saw his red cheeks and laughed, quickly catching him before he left the establishment. "Hi." she said. Jake stuttered out a hello. "What's your problem?" she asked. Jake's face grew even redder. "Oh, I was just…uh…" She giggled lightly, slapping his chest playfully, even though she had hit his bruise, causing excruciating pain to shoot through him, Jake continued smiling his awkward smile and being ashamed. "The nervous one's are always so cute." His smile grew larger.

The girl's name turned out to be Rose. Strange name, considering they were probably all dead now. When Jake inquired why that name she only replied "I don't know, you'd have to ask Daddy." When asking who 'Daddy' was, she replied "Oh, your new huh? Daddy, well, 'Cue Ball'" she said, making air quotes, "Runs the pool hall, his name is REALLY just Cuebert, but he'd kill you for knowing." Jake laughed at the joke, though he was sure it wasn't really a joke.

Another hour had passed before he knew it. Drinks were on the house for Rose and Jake, Cue Ball's specialty, the 'belly buster' a tankard of liquor. Liquor strong enough to clean even the dirtiest windows with. Rose drank it like it was lemonade, Jake drank it like piss. Which interestingly enough, he had drank, and also interesting, had to hold his breath and keep from gagging after each. They took turns drinking until it was empty, there was no need for cups because for tonight, they were together. She offered him a cigarette, or what looked like one, maybe a hand rolled cigarette, he said he didn't smoke, but after she lit it he realized it was some strange tobacco. It smelled odd, and when she blew it into his face it didn't have the same taste. She called it a 'joint', and held it differently than a cigarette, where others held a cigarette between there index and bird fingers, she pinched the 'joint' between her index and thumb. Jake decided to try it. He hadn't liked cigarettes after trying them, but maybe this was a different kind of tobacco. He took a drag, inhaling. Instantly he was hit by an urge to cough. Leaning over the table, he coughed until he nearly puked. Not wanting to upchuck his free liquor he swallowed. Rose laughed, as did everyone else in the pool hall. Jake didn't know why, but he felt like laughing too, so he did, and they all stood laughing at him, maybe laughing at HIM laughing. "Man, I feel GOOOD." He said, lifting his armor plate over his head and resting it on a chair. His tee shirt was slightly damp and he smelled like an onion. But no one noticed, this was the wasteland after all, everyone stunk and if they didn't…then fuck them!

Jake found himself lying on the floor, rays of the early morning sun shining through the window. His head ached and his throat was sore. He wasn't sure how many 'joints' he smoked. But he had realized half-way through the night that the bud he had in his pocket was what they were rolling into the 'joints'. He would have to talk to the doctor about buying some of that stuff. Whatever it was. He rolled onto his side, seeing his armor plate missing. He jumped to his feet, his head spinning, he put his hand to the wall and steadied himself. "Not again…" he said, around him were several other people, all sleeping on the floor. He stepped around them, to the back room. He opened the door to find several cots. All empty, except two. On one was the lumbering shape of Cue Ball, on the other was Rose. She slept, her hair slightly mussed in her face. She looked beautiful to Jake. Maybe it was puppy, but at the moment he had the thought to go and wake her. It was only after he noticed his armor next to her bed did he realize what had happened. She had taken it for safe keeping. "Wow." he whispered. He quietly crept to one of the cots, lying down, hearing the springs creak and pop. He heard Cue Ball's bear like snore stutter for a moment, it then continued. Jake lay his head down, finishing his rest, hoping his head would feel better after a few more hours sleep. He closed his eyes…

"Hey! What the hell are you doing back here?!" he was snatched up by some unseen person. Thrown to the floor and stomped, a large foot was holding him down. If they wanted him dead he was as good as dead. Just as he felt all hope was lost he heard a voice yell out, "Daddy! You leave him alone!" the foot lifted and he felt Rose's delicate hand help him to his feet. Cue Ball laughed, "What? This your little boyfriend?" Jake's vision cleared and he was looking down the twin barrels of a shotgun. "Don't matter, tell me boy, why you in my stock room?" Jake tried to stammer out a response. But hearing the gun cock his ability to speak slipped right back down his throat. "I said leave him alone! He was just sleeping!" Rose stepped in front on Jake. Cue Ball rested the gun on his shoulder. "Hmm…your lucky boy. Anyone else woulda got the buckshot special. And it ain't nearly as special as the drink." Jake was confused by the statement but glad nonetheless that Rose had saved him. Cue Ball walked away, Jake heard him yelling to the people in the front to "Get your sorry asses up and clean this shit! Who threw up in the corner? And FUCK! Who PISSED in the other!" A loud gunshot went off and the sound of a body hitting the floor came shortly thereafter. Rose looked at Jake and smiled, "Welcome to Green Bud's Inc"


	8. Sex and Seriousness

**Jake wasn't sure if he was dreaming. But he knew things weren't right. The shape on the horizon wasn't the size of a mutant. It was…well it was fucking big. "Rose…babe? Come here." Jake's newfound love walked over, the pale moonlight casting shadows over her face. She looked up to him, hugging his waist, and asked "What is it?"**

**Jake pointed to the shape on the horizon, "What do you reckon that is?" "I don't see anything." He took her hand into his, and used her own finger to point it out. "That." For several seconds she stayed silent. Finally a short gasp told Jake something was wrong. "What?" He asked. "Stay here, keep an eye on that. I'm going to get daddy." **

**Jake was left, half naked and sweaty from they're furious love making…and she was going to get her 6'5, bald headed, usually furious father. "Shit…" Jake whispered as he heard Cue Ball approaching. The man walked like a bear, and the constant stream of cursing wasn't settling Jake's worries any less. "The fuck did you get me out of my goddamn bed, middle of the mother fucking night so I could look at a sombitching shadow, goddamn kids fucking and prolly drinking my product, goddamn I'm just…" His words seem to run out as he exited the door, the second he eyed the shape, he just froze. Anything that could make this insane example of a typical Wastelander clam up like that was something bad. **

**Jake knew it. Just…FUCKING knew it. That humongous shape was bad. As a rule, most huge dark shadowy masses were considered bad. But this just seemed inherently terrible. Like looking at a tornado come toward you. Cue Ball put his mouth to Jake's ear, whispering. "Has it moved?" Jake shook his head. "Go get your gear, meet me at the bar." Jake nodded. Rose was pacing back and forth, biting her nails. "Is it one daddy?" Jake had his back to them, but he could hear Cue Ball's beard scratching as he nodded. Instantly Rose let out a whimper. But nothing more. Jake was getting the feeling whatever that shape was…it was something that could hear you, and get you, and do it all very quick.**

**Gathered in a small semi-circle, were all the town folk. Well most of them, the one's capable of shooting a gun. Cue Ball was whispering. "Alright folks. We got a fucking Claw out there…you know the drill… we hit it with the small arms while…" Jake interrupted him. "What's a Claw?" "What the fuck are you? Retarded?" one of the others near Jake asked. "I guess so…what is a fucking Claw?" Cue Ball grabbed the collar of Jake's armor, pulling the two face to face. "This ain't time for no jokes funny guy." Trying to not gag off of Cue Ball's terrible breath Jake said "I'm not kidding, I really don't know what that is." "Jesus fucking Christmas cakes… A Deathclaw son." Seeing it wasn't registering…Cue Ball explained. "Look. Imagine if a super mutant fucked a rad-scorpion, right?" Jake nodded. "And they're bastard child somehow fucked a Yao Guai…" Jake nodded again. "And then that freakish child decided to crack open a hazard waste drum and drank the whole thing…then shit out a huge fucking turd that has thick skin and huge claws. Stands about eight feet tall." "Holy shit." "Exactly. Holy shit. Now are you getting the picture?" Jake nodded for the third time. "Alright…back to the plan. Now we hit it with the small arms, till Jerry there can get the sprayer started, I'm sure we got enough fucking napalm to kill the damn thing. And if we don't…then I'll see all you mother fuckers in Hell." Jake wasn't sure how he felt about the phrasing of this pep talk. But serious matters call for serious talk. And this surely seemed serious. So a very serious Jake grabbed his very serious Chinese Assault Rifle. Walked very seriously with the group out into the edge of the town, and stood (very seriously) as Cue Ball bellowed out. "Come get your grub you ugly fuck!"**

**Jake had never seen anything move so fast.**


End file.
